But of course I gave the after-school program two-weeks notice and told the magazine that, until then, I would spend only half-days reviewing the latest gumball dispensing technology, before leaving to go teach. This delays my 40-hour-a-week sentence, plus gives me some valuable last days to crank out a few final songs with the smart kids of Behrman Elementary on the West Bank (watch upcoming issues of Gambit for the final album reviews by Mr. Michaels Class).

And thus, I felt a renewed sense of purpose driving the crappy little car Im lucky to even own over the bridge today. But in the cafeteria during homework hour, the sixth graders in my charge would barely speak to me. Per usual; on the cusp of puberty, thats just how many sixth graders roll. Ariol however, asked what I did for Mardi Gras. This started a small discussion, in which only the smartest girl, S_____, did not participate. S_____ (whose name I will protect, because I promised her I would) generally never speaks to me no matter what. Wont answer my questions or even acknowledge when Im addressing her. I cant help thinking this is my fault; since shes so artistic and smart, and all her other teachers love her, I fear S_____ simply realizes something about me that the less perceptive kids do not.

But something strange happened with brilliant, distant S_____, when at the lunch table I mentioned last-nights Grammys. Ariol replied that she had missed the Grammys beginning, because I had to do my homework.

Oh man, I missed the beginning too, I commiserated, which sucks since Prince gave out an award at the beginning!

S_____s head snapped up from her spelling homework and her eyes met mine for what seemed like the first time ever: Prince was on?!

And there I thought I had her. Prince is my favorite of all time. Hes actually on this computers screen saver right now as I type -- not a pic from last nights Grammys though, but from the seventies: a shot of Prince wearing only a small black silk speedo, and making a contorted sex face, while strangling a wood-grained Telecaster. He looks completely and totally metaphysically engrossed in the act of music-making, although if you look closely, his guitar is unplugged. Prince is awesome, I nodded to S_____. You obviously like him too, no?

No, that's just my uncle, she said quickly before stopping dead. Her eyes then darted away -- less like she was lying than that shed simply screwed up and told the wrong secret.

Wait, what did you just say? I asked.

Nothing... I mean... she stammered. Nevermind. This was not an act; she was obviously nervous, when usually shes ice cold, far more together than me. Far more collected than I was now.

Oh no. No, no, no. Repeat what you just said, S_____. You just said Prince is your uncle, didnt you?

Its not Im not supposed to 

Oh my god. It's true.

No. Hes not, OK? she lied. While she and I havent communicated much, Ive observed her enough to know shes too mature and confident to play coy for my attention. Everything about her seemed to make sense now: her shy confidence, just like Princes; the silent way she communicated her whole cocky-yet-smart personality through simple sly shifts of her eyes.

He is your uncle! I accused. Admit it.

She sighed, irritated.

Oh man S_____, you cant do this to me, I implored. You completely ignore me all semester then out of nowhere you say Prince is your uncle and now you wont even 

I stared at her through another moments of awkward silence before we all lined up for one of my final Music Writing classes ever. Princes niece happened to be the last one still stuffing her bookbag at the lunch table. I slid in beside her. Listen, I said quietly, I can understand why you wouldnt want people bothering you about it. Maybe someone told you not to mention it to anyone, and thats cool. But if you tell me the truth I promise I will never repeat it to anyone, and I will never ask you another question about Prince. Just tell me the truth, please?

O.K.

O.K. what? I beamed.

O.K. Yes.

Yes what?

Yes, I will tell you the truth.

O.K. Go ahead.

Silence.

S_____! Tell me!

Not now! she pointed to the other kids, whod again tuned into us. Here she giggled for what seemed like the first time since Ive known her, yet I still believe shed meant what shed accidentally said. When no one else is around, she promised quietly, passing by me to join the line.

By the end of the days recording session she still hadnt admitted anything. It's unfortunate though, that whenever she finally does, I obviously cant tell you